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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732889">Into Perdition</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandvictories/pseuds/athousandvictories'>athousandvictories</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Merlin (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Arthur Gives Many Fucks, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Bickering, Canon Era, Catholic Guilt, Feeling Resentfully Felt, M/M, Magical Tattoos, Merlin Has a Filthy Mouth, Merlin gives no fucks, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Resolved Eventually, Sexual Tension, Snark, Thriving!Pagan!Merlin, Wounds Resentfully Tended, idiots to lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 02:55:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,523</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24732889</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandvictories/pseuds/athousandvictories</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Aren’t you worried you’re going to get her pregnant?”</p>
  <p>Arthur looks indignant at the insinuation, despite the fact that his hair is still sticking up in the back, and his tunic is still askew. “No?”</p>
  <p>“All right. I just thought… you know. You being the king’s only son, and Sevain being an ambitious chap, it could cause quite a bit of--”</p>
  <p>“We don’t <em>do</em> anything that could result in--Christ, Merlin, it’s just none of your business, is what it is.” </p>
</blockquote><br/>Moronic flirting &amp; poorly communicated affection, with an eventual tipping point. And then another, of a different kind.<br/>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>113</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>652</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning:<br/>Contains internalized homophobia, show-typical sexism, descriptions of injuries</p><p>Title Quote:<br/>“I would eat my way into perdition to taste you.”<br/>― Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body</p><p> </p><p>Note:<br/>This began as a simple (and probably cliche, since this is <em>Merthur</em>) self-indulgence, and the plan has now expanded to include a magic reveal and an increasingly badass Merlin in further chapters (not that those things have not also been done, hundreds of times but I want to read them again and different so here we are).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Aren’t you worried you’re going to get her pregnant?”</p><p>Arthur looks indignant at the insinuation, despite the fact that his hair is still sticking up in the back, and his tunic is still askew. “No?”</p><p>“All right. I just thought… you know. You being the king’s only son, and Sevain being an ambitious chap, it could cause quite a bit of--”</p><p>“We don’t <em>do</em> anything that could result in--Christ, Merlin, it’s just none of your business, is what it is.”</p><p>“Sorry,” Merlin says, making it clear that he is not sorry. “So what, then? Just kissing? Does she let you take further liberties?”</p><p>“Merlin!”</p><p>“Ah. So you let <em>her</em> take liberties. I’m sure she must be very honored to suck the crown prince’s--”</p><p>“Don’t complete that sentence.” </p><p>Merlin signs and continues demurely setting things to rights in the room, which means stacking the dishes that should have been cleared off the table hours ago on the desk, where they will be forgotten until the next day.</p><p>“You should probably go back downstairs, Arthur. They’ll be missing you at the feast. Though I suppose you really weren’t gone for all that long. I’d feel sorry for Lisanor if I thought she was meant to be getting anything out of the arrangement.”</p><p>Arthur wishes fervently that Merlin would go back downstairs himself. Unfortunately for him, Merlin is a shit servant, and probably won’t be budged from where he’s lounging in the other chair, holding a cup of mead that had been Arthur’s thirty minutes ago. </p><p>“I’m going to have you flogged for being insolent.”</p><p>“Headache, already?” Merlin says. “You only had… five drinks, I think. Usually you make it to seven before becoming a bastard.”</p><p>Arthur rubs at his temples. “I’m not a bastard--that’s treason, by the way.”  Merlin kicks his feet up onto the table as if he very much doubts it, and Arthur wrinkles his nose. “You’re just being intolerable. You’re always intolerable about sex, Merlin. Didn’t they have it in Ealdor?”</p><p>Merlin cocks his head to the side, pondering. “Not enough, in my opinion.” </p><p>“So that’s why you’re always on my arse about girls. You’re jealous.”</p><p>“Of you? Certainly not.” Merlin finishes the cup of mead and then sets it down on the table by his ankles, looking mildly peeved at it for being empty. “Of the girls, a little. I can’t imagine how entertaining you must be.”</p><p>“You shouldn’t be<em> imagining</em> me.”</p><p>Merlin raises his eyebrows, all innocence. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare. I’ve already seen most of it, anyway.”</p><p>Arthur resists the urge to put his face in his hands. “I’m going to sack you.”</p><p>“Good,” Merlin says, swinging his feet back onto the floor and springing upright with the casual grace of someone who’s only half drunk. </p><p>He plants his palms on the table; it’s just low enough that he has to lean over a bit, and his shirt flaps open indecently. Arthur wishes, for the first time, that Merlin was wearing his stupid kerchief. </p><p>“I’m going to go back down, I think.”</p><p>“You’re going to what?”</p><p>“Well, the nobility will be deep enough in their cups that I can have fun.”</p><p>“Fun.”</p><p>“It’s when people enjoy themselves. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have your first fun someday.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Don’t be a pessimist. You must be capable of a crude form of joy, or why would you smile when you hit me?”</p><p>“I mean, no, you’re not going down. I want a bath drawn.”</p><p>“You bathed before the feast. Why the <em>hell</em>…” Merlin claps a hand to his forehead melodramatically. “Ohhh. Gross.”</p><p>Arthur allows himself the luxury of looking smug.</p><p>Merlin slides his hand down his face and peers out at Arthur between his fingers. “No, actually, I’m not sure I understand. How could you possibly create any sort of mess with such a careful encounter? I’m sure you couldn’t have exerted yourself enough to sweat, and--”</p><p>“<em>Mer</em>lin!”</p><p>Merlin takes the hand off his face, and grins. “I’m not done. <em>And</em>, didn’t she swallow it?”</p><p>“I’m going to wring your neck,” Arthur says, shoving his chair back from the table. Merlin, infuriatingly, holds his ground, so Arthur is forced to follow through on at least the beginning of the threat, and wrap Merlin’s neck in the crook of his elbow. Merlin wriggles, which achieves nothing except that Arthur is pulled flush against his back.</p><p>He tilts his head back over Arthur’s shoulder as far as it will go, which is just enough for him to wink at Arthur as he kicks him in the shin. It’s a pointless effort, because Arthur tightens the headlock enough to prevent further insubordination.</p><p>“Ow. That’s the only windpipe I’ve got, you sod.”</p><p>“So stop talking lecherously about my lovers.”</p><p>“Not really fair to call her a lover, is it? When you’re the one getting all the favors.”</p><p>“I’m going to--”</p><p>“What? Bend me over this table?”</p><p>Arthur is silent in the realization that he is very close to exactly that; the tops of Merlin’s thighs are pressed into the edge of the table, and Arthur is pinning them there with the bulk of his own body flat against Merlin’s spine. </p><p>He lets go abruptly and puts a safe two feet of space between them. </p><p>Merlin turns to seat himself on the edge of the table, kicking his legs idly. He doesn’t say anything, aware he’s possibly pushed Arthur past irritation and into genuine anger. </p><p>“Get out.” Arthur says.</p><p>Merlin pushes himself off the table, and Arthur glares at the infuriating length of him, the damnable shirt exposing most of his breastbone, the breeches stretched tight across his hips. It’s the latter that makes Arthur pause, a shocked lump forming in his throat. His horror shows openly on his face, or else Merlin is just reading his mind, as he’s wont to do.</p><p>“Arthur.” Merlin shakes his shirt down to cover the offending area. “Don’t make this into something it isn’t.”</p><p>“What isn’t it?” Arthur is caught between twin urges to lunge closer and back away, and stays where he is.</p><p>“Anything. It isn’t anything.” Merlin tilts his head. “Listen.”</p><p>Arthur swallows--his throat’s dry enough to make it audible--and holds his palms out in front of him. “I don’t want to hear it.” He swallows again. “Just get out.”</p><p>“All right.” Merlin’s eyes are flame-blue in the dim as he turns to the door. “But if it’s yourself you’re disgusted with, don’t take it out on me.” </p><p>“What does <em>that</em> mean?” He blurts, just as Merlin sets his palm against the door.</p><p>“Maybe nothing.” Merlin turns. He’s still carrying himself far too arrogantly for a servant, but the teasing glint is gone from his eyes, his face held tightly blank.</p><p>“Why the hell,” Arthur says, and feels himself nearing the warm glow of outrage, “would I be<em> disgusted</em>?” Wrath is much more comfortable than whatever it was he’d been feeling before, and he leans into it, setting his hands on his hips.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Merlin says, leaning indolently back against the wall. “Why were you upset that I got a hard-on?” He crosses his arms over his chest, face still deliberately casual.</p><p>“Why,” Arthur stretches his hand across his face in order to rub both temples at once, “why must you say these awful things out loud.”</p><p>“Hard-on. Why does it make you so uncomfortable? The knights talk all manner of ribald things, I’m sure you’ve heard enough of it.”</p><p>“The difference,” Arthur says, “is that they’re not getting...” he gestures helplessly in front of him, wrinkling his nose, “over each other.”</p><p>“You can <em>not</em> really be this naive. Lucan and Gaheris have been fucking for half a year.”</p><p>“Stop. Talking.” He scrubs his hand down his face, since his temples are beyond redemption.</p><p>“What’s Uther going to do about it? A good half the knights are unbaptized heathens, he can hardly discharge all of them.”</p><p>“Are a good half the knights--” Arthur nearly chokes, and goes on bravely, “fucking each other?”</p><p>“I dunno, probably. Lucky them. I haven’t gotten any for ages.”</p><p>“Christ.”</p><p>“You’re very fragile. Anyway, is that all?”</p><p>“All,” Arthur echoes. “Yes. That’s… that’s all. Go away. No, wait. Put on the rest of your clothes, and then go away.”</p><p>“You’re awfully concerned about what’s proper for someone who was just despoiling a noblewoman’s virtue,” Merlin says, shrugging into his jacket. He ties his neckerchief primly, staring at Arthur while he does it. His shirt’s still unlaced enough that a sliver of his sternum is visible underneath it, but Arthur decides to leave well enough alone.</p><p>“Good night, My Lord. I’ll have a bath sent up tomorrow morning.”</p><p>Arthur had forgotten the bath. “Have it sent up now.”</p><p>Merlin points to the window, which displays a rectangle of star-dotted darkness. “Are you missing that it’s full night?”</p><p>“I’m the crown prince. I don’t care what time it is.”</p><p>“Most of the other servants are asleep,” Merlin explains, as if to a child. “Or busy, serving the <em>King</em>.”</p><p>“So do it yourself.”</p><p>“Splash some water on your face like the rest of us and wake up a more reasonable man,” Merlin says, and slams the door behind him.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Merlin is his usual insubordinate self in the morning, except that he looks very pointedly away when Arthur steps into the bath, and Arthur sinks easily back into his habitual irritation. It’s easier than dwelling on any of the previous night’s events.</p><p>“This water is <em>cold</em>.”</p><p>“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Merlin says tonelessly, and picks up a bowl that is still half-full of Arthur’s porridge. He dawdles around the room helping himself, and licking off the spoon a great deal more emphatically than Arthur thinks is really necessary.</p><p>“Will you stop?”</p><p>Merlin pulls the spoon out of his mouth with an obscene smack. “Stop what?”</p><p>“Eating my breakfast.”</p><p>“What’ll you do about it?” Merlin says, lifting an eyebrow.</p><p>“Cuff you upside the head.”</p><p>“Not naked, you won’t. Too scandalous. I have plenty of time to make a convenient escape.” Merlin wanders over to the window and looks out pensively on the sunrise. “Oh, I’ve just remembered. I promised Gaius to help him cut bandages before the tournament starts.” He smiles sweetly at Arthur and sets the bowl down on the table. </p><p>“You need to help me dress for that same tournament.”</p><p>“Guess you’ll have to find someone else. I’m sure they’ll respect you much more than I do, so really, it’s lucky for you.” He strolls out the door without another look back.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Despite the obstacles of having to dress himself and borrow a squire from Leon to help him into his armor, Arthur does himself credit in the tournament. The visiting knights are better than most of his sparring partners, but he’s been trained from birth, after all, and is careful to conserve his energy for effective blows and maneuvers. It’s not the moment to show off, if it means losing.</p><p>Merlin shows up when it’s far too late for him to be useful, knocks over Arthur’s best lance, and is unrepentant about it. </p><p>“You’ve done very well, this far,” he says, as if his opinion is wanted. “Thought that big bloke with the green shield had you for a minute.”</p><p>“And where the bloody hell have you been?”</p><p>An indolent shrug. “Rolling bandages. Takes a fair bit longer than cutting them, I’ll say that.”</p><p>“You’re my servant, not the Bandage-Roller to the Crown.”</p><p>“Lucky thing I did it, since you managed to make poor Bors bleed quite badly. Was that really necessary?”</p><p>“Are you listening to a word I say.”</p><p>“Yes. Anyway, Bors’ leg. <em>Very</em> gory situation. Could actually see muscle, which is never good. Gaius had to sew it closed.”</p><p>“Merlin.”</p><p>“He tried to make me do it, but I’ve got no stomach for stitches. Almost left my lunch on the lawn.”</p><p>“Shut up. I’m in the final, and my vambrace strap broke.”</p><p>“Well let me look at it.” Arthur unbuckles the second strap and tugs off the offending piece of armor.”</p><p>Merlin frowns at the severed leather. “I can’t fix it. You need a new one.”</p><p>“So get a new one.”</p><p>Merlin ducks out of the pavilion and returns suspiciously quickly with a similar vambrace in perfect condition. </p><p>“Leon’s,” he says, by way of explanation, and stares Arthur down until he lifts his arm for it to be fastened. </p><p>The final match is tense--Arthur is evenly matched to his opponent, a broad-shouldered knight with a longsword that comes close to giving him a severe concussion at least twice. Arthur actually looks to be on the losing end of most of the blows, and the hit that ends the match is lucky, a swing that began as a feint and became a real strike out of desperation, Merlin suspects. Either way, the other knight takes a hit to his knee at precisely the place to make him stagger, and after that Arthur presses the advantage. </p><p>The visiting lady responsible for the week’s festivities bestows on Arthur a gold purse (that he does not need), and a wreath of woven ivy (which he especially does not need). After an appropriate amount of victor’s posturing Arthur comes back to the tent, and to Merlin, letting the flap fall closed behind him. </p><p>He is uncharacteristically silent when he sinks onto the wooden stool beside the center pole, reaching out to steady himself against it with a gauntleted hand. Merlin, well aware that nothing pains Arthur more than to be pitied, pretends to polish a set of throwing-knives while he composes himself.</p><p>“All right?” He says, when the knives are fit to blind him. </p><p>“Yes,” Arthur says, and Merlin puts the knives down, careful to seem nonchalant. </p><p>He takes the helm out of Arthur’s lap, and sets the sword across the top of the sand-barrel. Then he returns for the pauldrons and the gorget, his hands nimble and practiced on the buckles. Since Arthur is watching he sets them down across the tent instead of dropping them in a heap, and comes back for the hauberk. Arthur winces as he raises his arms, and then yells “Christ!” when Merlin’s got it almost over his head.</p><p>Merlin jumps in surprise, jerking on it as he does, and Arthur groans, and then says “Damn it.”</p><p>Merlin staggers back a step with his arms full of mail, and squints at him, appraising the damage. None is visible: the gambeson is free of blood, and the limbs under it appear operational. Comforted, he dumps the hauberk in the sand-barrel, stealing glances over his shoulder at Arthur, who is flexing his arms experimentally, with his mouth stretched in a grimace.</p><p>He stops when Merlin turns and looks innocently at the tent flap, as if he had taken a sudden interest in textiles.</p><p>“Take that off, Arthur.”</p><p>Arthur complies, which is the first worrisome thing, since taking things off him is Merlin’s domain. He shrugs the gambeson onto the grass, gritting his teeth in a way he thinks is subtle, and is not.</p><p>“The shirt too.” The shirt in question is stuck to him in most places. Probably it had been white linen in the morning; it is now decidedly not-white. Merlin tries to breathe through his mouth. </p><p>Arthur exhales loudly and reaches behind his head to tug it off. He flings it down on the grass and Merlin flinches at the sight of the skin under it. Arthur’s left arm is nearly black at the wrist, with a cuff of indigo and green expanding down to the heel of his hand, and up to the elbow.</p><p>“Gods. Who did that?” </p><p>Arthur says nothing, and Merlin spends a few seconds marveling at the intensity of the color before he realizes that something is probably broken underneath it.</p><p>“I’m going for Gaius.”</p><p>“Don’t be an idiot. I know what a broken bone feels like. Arthur flexes the fingers of the damaged arm and hisses. “It’s a bruise. Everyone else has some too.”</p><p>“I’m sure they do. And Gaius will see to them.”</p><p>“I’m not letting you wrap a bruise in gauze, Merlin. I’m not a <em>girl</em>.” </p><p>Arthur becomes aware, as he says it, that Merlin looks particularly un-girlish at the moment: his neckerchief and jacket have been discarded, and his sleeves are rolled above the elbow, displaying pale arms with prominent veins, covered in flecks of something that is probably Bors’ blood.</p><p>“I wish I was a girl,” Merlin says, “because I’d probably have been made Morgana’s servant, and not yours. She’d be grateful for my educated medical opinion.”</p><p>“You haven’t got an educated opinion of any sort.”</p><p>“You’re an arse,” Merlin says, and gently picks up the hand under the damaged wrist to test the motion. “At least let me get salve for it.”</p><p>“I can drink with my right, and that’s what matters. Now go get me a washbasin, and a towel.”</p><p>Merlin had brought both when he came, and now moves them to the top of a crate within Arthur’s reach. He makes such a pathetic sight attempting to scrub his face with only his right hand and splashing water everwhere, that Merlin is forced to intervene.</p><p>“Just let me do it, you blockhead,” he says, and pulls the towel out of Arthur’s hand.</p><p>“Piss off, you’re getting it directly in my eyes.”</p><p>“Good, they’re filthy like the rest of you.”</p><p>“Ow!”</p><p>“It’s incredible how frail you can be about some things, considering how thick you are about others.”</p><p>“That’s my <em>face</em>!”</p><p>Merlin ponders whipping him with the towel and settles for wringing it out over the nape of his neck, so the water will run down his spine and into his braies. </p><p>“I’m--I swear to God, I will make you drink this.”</p><p>Merlin pulls Arthur’s head back with a handful of hair and dumps the bowl out over it before he can follow through on the threat. </p><p>“You are a menace to society,” Arthur splutters, and uses the tent pole to lever himself off the stool. “</p><p>“Ow, <em>ow</em>. Okay--does it make it better if I promise that your hair smelled awful?”</p><p>“Go to hell.”</p><p>“I’m sure I will, if there is one,” Merlin says seriously. Arthur feels something tighten under his ribcage, and looks away.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>Arthur had promised himself he would learn a lesson from the first banquet, and not exceed two drinks at the second, but given the Particular Circumstances, he considers his restraint magnificent for staying below ten. The Circumstances in question are the tittering daughter of the visiting nobleman seated at his elbow, and Merlin, existing loudly just behind his chair.</p><p>The lady of honor, Olwen, (who had given him the gold, and the wreath) he is supposed to pretend to be interested in; this he manages by asking questions that demand lengthy answers, and not listening to the responses. Merlin will not be managed and must be ignored, until he disappears and can be resented.</p><p>Arthur retires the moment the girl does, and gallops up the stairs, the spectre of his future but inevitable wife sloshing about in his head like the wine does in his stomach. Merlin is sitting barefoot on his bed, eating a small green apple. </p><p>“Catch,” he says, and throws another apple at Arthur. </p><p>Arthur frowns at it for a moment, and then decides that it’s exactly what he wants after heavy food and too much wine. </p><p>“Ah, thank you Merlin.” Merlin says, throwing his apple core at the fire and missing tragically. “Always improving my life with your thoughtfulness, Merlin.”</p><p>“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says, and puts the apple between his teeth to free his only good hand. Even taking off his belt is a clumsy affair, with just the one.</p><p>“Oh Gods, are you about to be married off?”</p><p>Arthur is by now halfway out of his shirt, and his voice comes muffled through it. “How did you get <em>married off</em> from <em>thank you</em>?” </p><p>“Seems like sort of a drastic last resort, since you’ve avoided saying it for years now. Also, it seemed like Ulfric’s daughter was in support of an alliance.” Merlin throws another apple core, which lands in the fire and sends up a shower of sparks. “Wholeheartedly. Bet she’d go for a tumble whether a marriage was on the table or not.”</p><p>“Are you thinking about sex all the time, or just most of it?”</p><p>“Am I supposed to be enthralled by shining your shoes? There’s a reason servants gossip about who the upper-class is fucking.”</p><p>“Including me?”</p><p>“You’re upper class,” Merlin says, and throws another apple at him.</p><p>“And who do the servants currently think that I am.” He clears his throat. “Fucking.”</p><p>“Oh, no one, that’s why you’re so bloody uptight. I am privy to the reality, which is that you’re just always… you know. Like this.”</p><p>Arthur toes off his boots and wedges himself into the corner of a chair, throwing his legs over the opposite arm. “Have you considered that I might be like this because I have an uncommonly terrible servant?”</p><p>“I’m certain that’s only part of it. I have it on the good word of knights I will not name that you’re a prick to them too. Did you let Gaius salve your arm?”</p><p>Arthur polishes his apple on his thigh and then nibbles it thoughtfully.  “I’m a prick, why do you care if my arm is salved?”</p><p>“Because I know you’ll make me miserable if it’s sore. Prick.”</p><p>“Arsehole.”</p><p>Merlin leaps lithely off the bed, and gets a jar out of the cupboard. He sniffs the contents experimentally, his face wrinkling. “Arm.”</p><p>Arthur grumbles but swings upright in his chair, grumbling, and sets the bruised arm across the table. It is even more resplendent in than it had been in the afternoon, there are spots of yellow in the middle and red at the edges. Merlin opens the jar of salve and bends over the table, squinting intently.</p><p>The first press of his fingers makes Arthur jump, and Merlin’s fingers skid off the edge of the bruise, smearing ointment down across his palm. Merlin frowns and scoops up more salve. The next touch is impressively light, and still sends a burst of pain up into Arthur’s shoulder.  </p><p><br/>
Arthur turns his head away and tries not to think too deeply about what it means to place his injury squarely in Merlin’s hands, and trust him with it. There is a series of the small touches, cold ointment dragging over hot skin, and then Merlin wipes his hand on his thigh, and sighs, “Finished, finally.” Arthur lets his head fall back and exhales his relief to the ceiling. </p><p>Merlin’s eyes catch on his when he glances back up. “Okay?”</p><p>“Yes,” Arthur says, too quickly. </p><p>Merlin studies him with an intensity that makes him deeply uncomfortable. “I see.” His voice is very low.</p><p>Arthur gets to his feet, foolishly imagining that regaining equal height will make it somewhat easier to breathe. “You’re dismissed.”</p><p>Merlin laughs in his face.</p><p>“Gods, you’re such an ass.”</p><p>“You’re<em> dismissed</em>, Merlin.”</p><p>“And you’re an ass.”</p><p>When Merlin has closed the door (loudly) behind him, Arthur looks down into his hand, the candlelight catching the streak of ointment where Merlin’s fingers had slipped.</p><p>The faint herbal odor of blackwort hovers in the air, and makes him suddenly, fiercely angry. He curls his fingers over his palm, and then unfolds them, and scrapes the salve roughly off on the edge of the table. It pulls on the bruised skin of his wrist and sends a bolt of pain into his chest.</p><p>When he throws himself down in the bed his skin feels tight and hot, and he cannot sleep. He strokes himself into a release that comes too quickly, and goes immediately after to his washbasin, filled with sudden disgust.</p><p>Wiping roughly at his torso, it’s impossible not to remember that it had been Merlin who filled the basin, and that it will be Merlin who refills it, Merlin who takes the towel away.</p><p>He splashes the rest of the cold water on his face, and throws the cloth in the fire. </p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>In the morning, Merlin throws Arthur’s hunting clothes over a chair without a word and tosses his hawking glove on the table beside his breakfast, lips pressed in a flat line. The glove is meant for his left hand, and Arthur stares dully at it for a while after Merlin leaves before picking it up to turn it inside out, an undignified process that requires the aid of his teeth and several curses.</p><p>Merlin is not present to watch, at least. He is in the tower, bestowing on Gaius a sudden outpouring of helpfulness and diligence. Gaius is surprised, but pleasantly, and has him inspect the stored medicines, marking down which are old and should be replaced.</p><p>Merlin enjoys the chore, since he is able to imagine the ailment corresponding to each remedy befalling Arthur on the hunt, and Arthur begging for his help, and himself refusing to give it. When at the end of the afternoon Arthur actually appears in the window, sitting his horse stiffly with the reins sagging in his left hand, it is harder to be pleased.</p><p>He takes a warming tisane to Arthur’s room, and then sees the bedclothes left carelessly spilling out of the bed onto the floor, and dumps it out the window. </p><p>An hour later he sees Arthur at the feast, and repents. Arthur’s expression looks pained even before Olwen alights beside him and begins recalling how pretty the bells had been, and how fearsome the birds.</p><p>He pays special attention to her cup, keeping it full to brimming, and she in turn empties it faithfully over and over, growing duller with each cup. She is one of the first to retire, and Arthur is the immediate second.</p><p>Merlin follows him to his rooms in silence, and only when the door closes behind them does Arthur bury his face in his hands.</p><p>“That woman.”</p><p>“Yes, it must be difficult to deal with other people, when hitting them or sacking them isn’t on the table.” Merlin’s sympathy has suddenly evaporated.</p><p>“Merlin--”</p><p>“Oh, am I already dismissed?” </p><p>“Shut up. Help me get all this off.”</p><p>Merlin is gentle with each garment as far as the left sleeve, and then is as negligent as possible.</p><p>“Ow, <em>ow,</em>” Arthur says, as a collar is jerked roughly over his head, and damages his nose irreparably.</p><p>“Sorry.” Is the listless response.</p><p>When Arthur is sufficiently unclothed Merlin sits down in a chair, puts his feet on another, and looks at him. His expression is unimpressed.</p><p>“And?”</p><p>“And.”</p><p>“And, am I dismissed now?”</p><p>“Salve my arm.”</p><p>Merlin rolls his eyes theatrically, but gets the salve and sits in the chair beside Arthur’s to apply it. He does it less carefully than before, but still gently enough that Arthur hardly feels it, except at the very center of the bruise.</p><p>“There,” he says when he’s done, and wipes his fingers off scornfully on Arthur’s naked chest.</p><p>Arthur smears the streak of ointment away with his palm, and then wipes the palm on the front of Merlin’s neckerchief. “Show some respect, you dolt.”</p><p>Merlin unties the tainted neckerchief and tosses it on the table. “I will, when you deserve it.” He pushes back his chair and puts his feet on the table, staring at the ceiling.</p><p>Arthur studies the curve of his throat with a strictly professional interest--it is important to consider where would be best to punch it. Then he’s distracted by the arch of the spine. and misses when Merlin turns his head and sees him looking.</p><p>Merlin lifts his eyebrows just fractionally enough to imply almost nothing, and still enough to imply almost everything. Arthur is about to clear his throat and back away to a safe distance, when Merlin catches his chin between thumb and finger and kisses him on the mouth.</p><p>It’s a soft, easy kiss, barely more than one mouth catching against another, like a cloak snagging on a green branch.</p><p>Arthur says nothing, and Merlin looks at him like he is considering various avenues of opportunity, and then kisses him again, slower. Arthur catches desperately at the front of Merlin’s shirt, and Merlin rises out of his chair and bends over him, bracing a hand on the back of his chair. Then he wraps the hand around the back of Arthur’s neck and lifts him to his feet, and pushes him three stumbling steps into the nearest wall. </p><p>There is a stunned pause, and then they are kissing again, Merlin’s left hand pinning Arthur’s shoulder against cold stone, his right splayed across Arthur’s thigh, dangerously close, and painfully far away.</p><p>Merlin backs away suddenly. “We should stop.”</p><p>Arthur lets his head fall back against the wall, focusing on the cool stone, and taking deep breaths. “You want me to beg.”</p><p>“No. I don’t want you to wake up scandalized, and throw me in the stocks.”</p><p>Arthur looks down at Merlin. “I’m already going to throw you in the stocks. We can negotiate the duration.”</p><p>“Hmm.” Merlin takes a step nearer,  pushes his chin back up, and bites down his neck, his free hand skimming down over Arthur’s hip, and then across to the other. He kisses up to his ear, and whispers, “You’ve got a hard-on, <em>Sire</em>.”</p><p>“Shut up,” Arthur says, and bucks into his hand.</p><p>“I’m not going to carry on if we don’t talk. It’s a necessary part of the process.” Merlin’s fingers are untangling laces, Arthur’s and his own, and then stroking, and already slick with salve. “Tell me what you want.”</p><p>“I want…” Arthur lifts his good hand to grab Merlin by a fistful of his shirt. “I want a servant with a sense of propriety.” The statement is made less impactful by his rutting helplessly into Merlin’s grip as he says it.</p><p>“Fine,” Merlin says, “then you can finish yourself,” and takes his hand away.</p><p>“Fine,” Arthur says, replacing the hand with his own, and kissing Merlin roughly, with tongue.</p><p>“I’m going to come,” Merlin says into his mouth, and then does, all over both of them. Arthur looks down at Merlin’s spend striping his naked torso and shudders, and then his mind whites out.</p><p>When his thoughts have begun to reform themselves in orderly lines, he is aware of standing with his forehead pressed onto Merlin’s shoulder, a phenomenal mess of sweat and worse smeared on both of them. “Shit.”</p><p>“You’re welcome.”</p><p>Arthur pushes Merlin’s shoulder--halfheartedly, since his all his limbs are slack and buzzing pleasantly (The throbbing in his bruised wrist feels faraway, and irrelevant). “None of that was <em>you</em>.”</p><p>“Right.” Merlin reties his laces and strolls across the room to the washbasin. “Why is this empty?”</p><p>“Because you didn’t fill it, idiot.”</p><p>“What did you do, dump it on your head?” Studying Arthur, Merlin realizes he had done just that, and shakes his head. “I guess I’ll just walk back through the entire castle like this. If anyone asks I’ll say I walked in on you at a <em>very</em> inopportune time.”</p><p>“My God. Please do not.”</p><p> “Then what?” </p><p>Arthur wonders how Merlin can manage to muster so much irritation post-orgasm. “Take your clothes off, and get in the bed.” </p><p>Merlin shrugs and peels off the ruined remainder of his clothes, and Arthur follows suit, more slowly, though he’s ahead by a shirt. Merlin flops down face first in the center of the bed. </p><p>“Leave me half of it, you moron.”</p><p>“M’sure you’ll still fit.”</p><p>Arthur drapes himself mostly on top of Merlin, to prove that he will not, and Merlin yields him slightly more area. “This is never going to happen again,” he says, staring up at the ceiling and carding his fingers idly through Merlin’s hair.</p><p>“Mhm,” Merlin says. “I’m sure it never will."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This was self-indulgence through and through but if I can't marry Jenny Slate, I'm going to daydream abt the next-best possible couple and that's that. All my title quotes are harvested from my <a href="https://athousandvictories.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>, let's be friends.</p><p>I type these things up in ill-considered all nighters while cackling maniacally and then post them with no beta... if you choose to leave comments, critical or otherwise, they are loved and learned from &lt;3 </p><p>additional note: I have only a vague idea what century this takes place in--I went full Witcher and did whatever I wanted, because the show did it first.<br/></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Warning:<br/>Contains mild descriptions of blood/gore, magical corpses</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s all well and good to make promises when one is blissfully tired, Arthur thinks irritably. Much less so in the morning when one is alert, and excruciatingly aware of the naked person in one’s bed.</p><p>The sun is peering warily through the window, casting a pale light on the carnage they had left in their wake the night before. Merlin’s clothes are piled in a heap by the bed; Arthur’s shirt is on the table, his pants thrown over a chair, his braies on the floor. Their boots, and Arthur’s spare pair, have been kicked about such that there is no way to determine which belong to who. </p><p>At some point in the night, Merlin had managed to wrap the bedclothes entirely around his legs--Arthur might have known he would sleep about as serenely as a hurricane--and the upper coverlet has been kicked to the floor. Still, the light is more generous to Merlin than it is to most, highlighting his skin to wonderful effect. Arthur has just made up his mind to get dressed and out of temptation’s way when Merlin looks up at him from under his eyelashes.</p><p>“Hullo,” he says, in the raspy voice of someone who’s been asleep, and rolls over to drape himself over Arthur’s chest.</p><p>Arthur, for some reason, lets him. Probably he’d been possessed by a lingering charm from one of the visitors (visitors can not be trusted). He also lets Merlin kiss him, softly, and then again, less softly, with his interest in continuing apparent against Arthur’s hip. One thing leads rapidly to another, and then Merlin is completely on top of him, and Arthur is grinding up into him, nerves alight with warring horror and unshakeable lust.</p><p>Merlin pulls his head down and licks his ear, which should be disgusting and instead makes him shudder, and after that there is more kissing, and Merlin doing wicked things with his hands all through it, and then Arthur is gasping, “Oh, God,” and coming all over Merlin.</p><p>Merlin strokes himself off while Arthur is still panting underneath him, and Arthur nearly loses his mind watching Merlin’s orgasm cross his face while his own is still fading; he is sure the image of Merlin’s eyes crushing closed as his breath hitches will haunt him until he dies.</p><p>Merlin throws himself down on his back, far enough across the bed that Arthur can almost pretend he isn’t there, and that he hasn’t just bedded his manservant <em>twice</em>. One time too often for it to really count as a temporary lapse in judgment.</p><p>“Well,” Merlin says, “that was really quite good. Especially when you consider that you’ve only got one working arm.”</p><p>Arthur sits up, the sensations buzzing in his head not entirely enough to dull his outrage. “No, Merlin, it wasn’t <em>good</em> at all. Starting now, this is never going to happen again.”</p><p>“Of course not, Sire,” Merlin says, unfolding onto his feet and pulling on his clothes calmly.</p><p>Arthur studies the finished product warily. Merlin’s garments are crumpled but not stained, and his hair is mostly lying flat. “You still smell like… you smell, Merlin.”</p><p>“You can say sex, Arthur. Especially since we’ve just done it. Don’t worry, if I meet someone before I reach a bucket I’ll just say I fucked a stablehand.”</p><p>“Have you gone fully mad? Say, I don’t know, a scullery maid. Or something.”</p><p>“People will think I’m lying if I pretend it’s a girl.”</p><p>Arthur is speechless for several seconds. He manages to finally choke out, incredulously, “People? Multiple people?” Then, “<em>Most</em> people?” </p><p>“Most of the knights, at least.”</p><p>“The knights.” </p><p>“Sure.”</p><p>“Why do they know?”</p><p>“They aren’t as impressively unobservant as you are.”</p><p>“Have you--have you <em>slept</em> with some of the knights?”</p><p>“‘Course, so have you. That’s just how camping is.”</p><p>Arthur closes his eyes and exhales, incensed. “Merlin. Have you <em>had sex</em> with any of the knights?”</p><p>“That’s none of your business,” Merlin says, “since this is never going to happen again.”</p><p>Arthur can feel a headache beginning as Merlin trots out the door. <br/>
 </p><p><br/>
+</p><p> </p><p>Merlin comes back an hour later with a bucket of water for the washbasin and two pears for Arthur’s breakfast. There had probably been more originally, judging by the size of the bowl.</p><p>He strips off the bedclothes and shoves them in a sack while Arthur washes, making much more noise and mess than he would have using two hands.</p><p>“How’s your arm?” Merlin asks, smirking, when he drops the cloth on the floor.</p><p>“Fine.”</p><p>“Do you want--”</p><p>“No!” He points at the sack of laundry. “Stay over there.” He tries to resume washing, and not to think about Merlin, who is certainly watching him do it. When he looks over his shoulder Merlin<em> is</em> watching, brazenly.</p><p>“Take those sheets out of here, you insubordinate arse,” he snaps, and Merlin does it, but with a maddening smirk.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>In retrospect, Merlin thinks, it had been much easier to ignore Arthur after having recently had an orgasm. When he comes in at night to stir the coals back into a fire he finds, to his annoyance, that Arthur looks particularly golden and alluring in the candlelight.</p><p>He is also pleasant, which Merlin guesses is because Olwen has gone trotting back out of Camelot on her pretty white palfrey, and Arthur is free to go back to practicing swordplay and being rude at dinner.</p><p>“Have some pastry, Merlin.”</p><p>“You’re in high spirits. What irritating person did you maim at training today?”</p><p>“Nobody, you nitwit. I’m being generous.”</p><p> “You’re never generous.”</p><p>“Nonsense. I let you eat half my pears this morning.”</p><p>“Hm. Happy Olwen’s gone, are you?”</p><p>“Aren’t you? What an unpleasant harpy.”</p><p>“Now, now. I actually don’t understand why you’re so opposed to the idea of a wife. <em>I</em> would be, but you actually appear to enjoy bedding women, and Uther’s going to serve one up for you eventually. Get your heir on some Lady, give her a wing of the castle and a wet-nurse, and go about things as usual.” He regrets it once he’s said it, it sounds coarse, and he knows Arthur wouldn’t do it anyway, that he’s not the sort. </p><p>“I’m going to pick my own wife,” Arthur says seriously, proving him correct. “One I respect and love, preferably.”</p><p>“Naive, but admirable. You could settle for respect and lust, and probably get love into the bargain in a year or two.” This, Merlin thinks, is true. Arthur would get reluctantly married, and then one day he would fall head over heels, and begin casting long lingering looks at her that would turn Merlin’s stomach.</p><p>“No.” Arthur looks seriously at the wall. “I don’t think I could.”</p><p>Merlin feels jubilance briefly, and rejects it. “Why not? Everyone else does it.” </p><p>“I don’t just suddenly <em>love</em> people, Merlin.” He looks down and speaks again, more quietly. “I don’t even love my father properly, as he is sure to remind me.”</p><p>“Well that’s just common sense. He’s cruel to everyone, and he’s awful to you.” </p><p>A stiff silence falls, after Merlin says it. He grows slowly more aware of how thoroughly and loudly he has just criticized the king to his own son. Arthur’s eyes grow wide, and then he turns them to the floor, swallowing. “He’s the king.” </p><p>There's a long pause. “How’s your arm,” Merlin says, to rescue the conversation.</p><p>“Looks worse, feels better.”</p><p>“Excellent. You can probably salve it yourself.” Merlin jumps up to get the jar, and skims it across the smooth surface of the table at him. Arthur catches it between his hands. </p><p>“Ow!” </p><p>“You were out there swinging a sword about, don’t tell me it’s catching the jar that’ll cripple you.”</p><p>“I was swinging the sword with my right hand!” Arthur frowns down at his wrist and begins dabbing ointment on it clumsily.</p><p>Merlin watches his salved fingers, and ponders prurient possibilities. When his mind is too full to contain them he blurts, “Why does it matter what we do in bed, Arthur? Shouldn’t you be having fun? Before you’ve been given a stuffy wife, or picked one?” </p><p>Arthur stiffens, disconcerted by another change in topic. </p><p>“Is it Gwen? I know you care about her, I just wasn’t sure if it was. I dunno. Like that.”</p><p>“It’s not Gwen.”</p><p>“Then I don’t really see why it matters.”</p><p>“Well, you wouldn’t, Merlin,” Arthur says, and looks at him darkly. Merlin stares at Arthur's fingers, wondering if he’ll be too thick to pick up on the hint.</p><p>“Arthur. Do you want to fuck?”</p><p>“I thought we already did,” Arthur says grimly. He does not mention the resolution not to repeat the performance.</p><p>“That doesn’t count, that was only a mutual hand-job. Clinical and distant.”</p><p>Arthur looks at him dryly, well aware that it had been clinical by no possible measure.</p><p>“Fine, it wasn’t clinical. Let’s still have sex.”</p><p>“No. We’re not. We’re just--not.” </p><p>Arthur stands up, resolved. Merlin gets up too, and makes to leave, but Arthur locks eyes with him before he opens the door, so he doesn’t open it.</p><p>“What now, Merlin?”</p><p>“Tell me I’m dismissed.”</p><p>“Don’t tell me what to tell you!”</p><p>“Well, I’m not going to leave unless you say I’m dismissed!”</p><p>Arthur stalks across the room, and grabs him by the collar, and Merlin opens his lips just a fraction, and then they’re kissing, Arthur pressing Merlin into the door. Merlin kisses him back, and then breaks away to bite into his neck, which sends Arthur into some kind of stunned trance, and makes Merlin wonder if it’s possible no one has ever tried it yet. He crawls his hands up under Arthur’s shirt as he does it, drags them along the warm skin of his ribcage. Then he thumbs over his nipples, and Arthur wrinkles his nose.</p><p>“Not for you?” Merlin asks amiably, pausing mid-bite.</p><p>“Is it for anyone?” Arthur says, and then licks Merlin’s through the thin fabric of his shirt, to check. </p><p>Merlin squirms. “A-ah. Actually, yes, it is.” Arthur does it again, and then bites up from his neck to the underside of his jaw. Merlin moans shamelessly, and steers him toward the bed.</p><p>“What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m trying to take you to bed, you ninny.”</p><p>“We’re not going to bed,” Arthur says, and pushes him into the table.</p><p>Merlin had considered this exact situation at length more that once and still nearly strokes out at the feeling of it: the corded muscles of Arthur’s abdomen flush against his bare back, Arthur’s right hand wrapped around him and touching him as Arthur must touch himself, fast, firm motions, with a flourish on the upstroke.  </p><p>Arthur is very generous with the salve, which in retrospect will seem foolish, since it’s hard to make a good blackwort salve, but in the moment, Merlin would not begrudge him the most complicated of remedies, and can only bite down on his fist and groan curses into the table. </p><p>He is torn between surrendering entirely to Arthur’s rhythm and lasting as long as he can, but it is not a long-fought battle. Arthur comes quickly, with a stuttering snap of his hips and what sounds very like a sob, and Merlin, trapped between the twin forces of his hand and the rest of him, is lost soon after.</p><p>Arthur pulls away, and leans over the table on his hands, panting. Merlin watches him out of the corners of his eyes, on-edge for what will come next.</p><p>“Wasn’t supposed to be that good,” is all that he says, when Merlin finally puts a cautious hand on his flank, and covers Merlin’s hand with his own.</p><p> </p><p>+ </p><p> </p><p>Arthur’s resolve is fully broken, and the next morning Merlin finds him already awake, and conveniently naked. Once the fucking (Arthur would say <em>affair</em>), has been committed to, once in the morning is not enough, and Merlin pounces on Arthur again when he’s alone in the hallway after the noon meal.</p><p>“What are you… what are you <em>doing</em>?”</p><p>Merlin hauls him into the nearest alcove by his collar. “Getting you off before anyone walks by. Idiot.”</p><p>There are many intense looks at supper, but no other opportunity is presented until the evening, when Merlin expertly steers their daily verbal disagreement into the realm of the physical. He’s been fantasizing about doing this exact thing for, well, several months, and the sex is very good.</p><p>There is a realm of possibilities open to them after that, and Merlin is nearly overwhelmed in the face of it. “I think I’d like to shag you in the stables,” he says, to test the waters.</p><p>“Are you mad?” Arthur says, but his face is buried in a pillow, and his voice comes out mild.</p><p>“Okay. But how is that worse than the alcove?”</p><p>“The alcove was also mad, I can’t believe we did that.”</p><p>“It won’t happen again?” Merlin says hopefully, since that seems to be a jinx of some sort. Arthur glares at him (as hard as he <em>can</em> glare, when he’s just gotten off and Merlin is kissing his shoulder sweetly). </p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>The next day there is no time for such indulgences, since Arthur is being sent to the Mercian border with a trading party. Merlin hates saddling horses in the dark, but it’s somewhat improved by Arthur’s hand lingering at the small of his back as he tightens his mare’s cinch, and the tiny glance that flashes between them when Merlin brushes past him closer than he needs to. </p><p>It is a sparse party of fast riders, Leon and Ector and Balan (and Merlin, on a courser that is frankly a bit much for him). Merlin resents speedy travel--he would prefer a more leisurely trip, with opportunities to slip away into the forest with Arthur on pretense of finding edible animals, or firewood. Still, even his pessimism does not anticipate the party of mercenaries on the border.</p><p>The mercenaries are better armed than typical sellswords--each man has a crossbow, and they approach quietly enough to catch the whole company by surprise. Balan is down with a bolt in his thigh before he can wheel his mount, and then Arthur’s horse is shot through the eye and nearly crushes him under it. With half the party unhorsed, there is only chaos; Leon takes an arrow in his sword-arm, and Ector is fighting four men at once, his horse screaming in panic. Merlin is trying, trying not to be shot, trying to keep his horse from running, trying to trip the attackers over roots without showing his hand, until his eyes fall on Arthur with a knife held against his throat.</p><p><em>His</em> Arthur. <em>His</em> destiny. </p><p>There is no written spell for what he does; something deep in his body knots the magic to the words that jump off his tongue--<em>get your hands </em>off<em> him--</em>and the man with the knife explodes, his body collapsing in a gory spatter of brains and innards that paints the grass crimson.</p><p>Arthur, his face covered in the red mist that had been a man, stares at him in shock. Merlin can only stare back, counting seconds down until the shock goes away, and all that shows on Arthur’s face is hot bright anger. </p><p>Since he’s already made his bed, Merlin throws the men Ector is fighting over with a sharp gesture of his hand, and watches the tide turn all at once, watches the knights turn one by one to Arthur, waiting for an order.</p><p>It strikes Merlin suddenly that Arthur might have suffered this if there had been less between them, might have looked the other way and sworn his men to silence. Instead Arthur looks into his eyes, and sees his own vulnerability reflected back at him, sees himself entirely trusting a person who ought not to have been trusted. </p><p>Arthur wipes the film of another man’s organs off his mouth and spits on the ground. “Tie him up. Or won’t ropes hold you, Merlin?”</p><p>Merlin’s not sure anymore, not sure if the power that surged out of his fingertips is still there, waiting for him, or only a strange and horrifying fluke. But it’s not a question he’s supposed to answer, anyway.</p><p>He rides back to Camelot behind Leon, his hands bound in front of him. He could break the ties and run away, usually, could throw himself off the horse and start running, hidden behind a wall of flames, or a cloud of dust, but he is exhausted--his heart sluggish, his breaths difficult. Mortal sorcerers are probably not strong enough to cast such flamboyant spells as tearing a man to pieces, he thinks bitterly. </p><p>They put him in a cell and this is when he first becomes fully aware that he is going to die. He decides, stubbornly, to spend his last hours in pleasant memories, so when he sags back exhausted against the wall he thinks only of Arthur, with his fingers twisted in the sheets, or knotted in Merlin’s hair, or drumming gently on his shoulder while he dozes.</p><p>“Triple the guard,” says the real Arthur later, standing in front of the cell with his face shut behind a wall of impenetrable anger. </p><p>“Now you’re the one lashing out with too much force,” Merlin says. “I don’t normally do that, you know. Didn’t know I even could.”</p><p>“We are nothing alike.”</p><p>“You’re right. I’d never kill you.”</p><p>Arthur’s knuckles tighten on the hilt of his sword. “I’m supposed to take your word for it?”</p><p>“Don’t be such an insufferable prat.” </p><p>Arthur turns on his heel and stalks up the stairs, and Merlin falls asleep, his guts aching and his heart beating slow and hard.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p><br/>
Arthur lives the evening in a fog, except for that he hears the whispers as if they are shouts. </p><p>“The crown prince’s manservant, sentenced to death for sorcery,” Balan says softly to his squire, who is manfully bearing most of his weight.</p><p>“Hadn’t he served for years now?” hisses one of the laundry maids to the guard outside Arthur’s room, her arms full with his bloodied clothes.</p><p>“A favoured companion.” Says one council member to another, probably meaning for him to hear it. “Though they bickered like fishwives.” </p><p>“Is he going to be burned? Will Uther at least have mercy and let it happen quickly?” That was Gwen, weeping in Morgana’s arms. Morgana was not weeping, she was looking at him--<em>glaring</em> seemed too mundane a word to describe the raw hatred in her gaze.</p><p>He tries in vain to actually imagine the reality of it, Merlin’s head rolling on the cobblestones, his charred bones tossed out in the refuse heap. It does not feel actual, or possible. The thing in the dungeons is surely a specter, a sprite; any moment Merlin will be here with his supper, cold and partly eaten, and suggest something filthy that he will certainly follow through on.</p><p>But no one comes, and Arthur does not fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>“Merlin.”</p><p>Merlin blinks blearily at the voice behind the grating of the cell. His heart is beating easier now, but looking at Arthur makes breathing difficult.</p><p>“Get up.”</p><p>Merlin frowns in confusion and totters toward the grate. “What are we doing?”</p><p>“There’s no we. I’m going to execute you.” </p><p>Merlin looks at him like he’s trying to peel back a layer of meaning that doesn’t exist, trying to divine some kind of strategy.</p><p>“My father understands that I won’t want a servant I trusted lashed to death in the public square.”</p><p>Merlin’s face is blank again. “Oh no, I can imagine you wouldn’t bear the humiliation.” He lifts his cuffed hands in front of him.</p><p>Arthur grips the length of chain that hangs between the manacles and shoves Merlin ahead of him up the stairs. The guards let him pass, and Merlin notices that they are all particularly young: Arthur’s men, and not Uther’s. He must have organized a change of guard that suited him.</p><p>“By order of the king,” he growls, and they must know that it’s not true, but Merlin knows that it will keep Uther’s rage where Arthur wants it: on himself.</p><p>“Where are we going? Beheadings are messy, you know.”</p><p>“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur says quietly, and shoves him between the shoulders. </p><p>“I know how it looked, but he did have a knife against your throat, in case you forgot.”</p><p>Arthur says nothing, and steers him out of the keep.</p><p>“Listen Arthur, I really <em>meant</em> to tell you,” he says, when they are outside.</p><p>“Is that so? Before or after you got me into bed?”</p><p>“Oh my Gods.” Merlin shakes his head, and laughs quietly. “You really think that. You <em>really</em> think as an all-powerful malicious sorcerer, my most logical move would be to pretend to be a bumbling servant for four years, on the off chance that I manage to seduce the prince?”</p><p>“Camelot’s enemies have done more for less.”</p><p>“Well if I wanted to be at all efficient about it I would have used a love spell like that Sidhe witch. She tried to drown you, by the way, and I stopped her. You’re welcome.”</p><p>“Shut <em>up</em>, Merlin.”</p><p>“How does it serve me to save your life and reveal my magic, then? Explain that.”</p><p>“Save my life? Is <em>that</em> what you were doing? It looked more like gutting a man alive.”</p><p>“If I wanted to gut <em>you</em> I would have done it the first time you made me muck out the entire stables. With the horse-boys standing right there, by the way, and snickering at me. Thanks for that.”</p><p>“No one wants to dismember me, Merlin, they want to manipulate me.”</p><p>“And I’ve had <em>such</em> success with that. I can’t even get you to pick up your stockings!”</p><p>“You, we... “ Arthur wrestles with the words. “You lied to me, and I never want to see you again.”</p><p>He stops behind the stables, at a loss.</p><p>“Do you need me to conjure up a specter of my broken body so Uther thinks you murdered me?”</p><p>“That would be helpful, yes.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>Merlin does it, with some difficulty. He is pale and sweaty when he finishes, like he had been after killing the man.</p><p>“I don’t think I can behead him... me. It. Sorry. You can try if you want, but I don’t think it’ll, well. Bleed.”</p><p>“Yes. Fine.”</p><p>“I’m not sure how I managed this, actually. I think the… the thing, was some sort of catalyst. I was never <em>this</em> powerful, before.”</p><p>Arthur looks at him blankly. </p><p>“Not the fucking you, I mean. The... gutting a man. Unleashed my capabilities, I think.”</p><p>“Right.”</p><p>“Better tell Gwen I lived, or she’ll never forgive you.”</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>He jogs off across the field, and Arthur watches his retreating back until it is hidden by the fog. </p><p>There is a spade against the stable wall, and Arthur digs a shallow grave with it, sweating despite the cool. He pushes the corpse-glamour inside with his toe, surprised to find that it weighs more than nothing, that it tumbles inside with limbs sadly askew. He leaves it there unburied, stomach roiling, and lies in his bed sleepless until morning. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>My Author Brand(TM): derailing adequate oneshots while playing a single song on repeat. If this wrecked it for you, ignore it. It's admittedly... a wee bit out there.</p><p>Let me know your thoughts, if you feel like it &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warning:<br/>Contains religious traditions, drug use (yes, there are medieval poppers here and yes, you should judge me very hard.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The church is cold at night, the tiled floor icy against his knees and shins, and Arthur shivers in his white tunic and cloak.</p><p>He is exhausted, exhausted by the burial of his father, quick and unceremonious, exhausted by the hasty preparations for his coronation. His body continues to demand the rest he will not give it; more than once he nearly dozes, starting awake when his head snaps forward.</p><p>At his last vigil, he had been resolutely alert. He had prayed sincere prayers that he might defend the innocent from hurt and the kingdom from evil. He had prayed that his father’s eyes would look down at him, kneeling to receive his knighthood, with pride.</p><p>Now he does not pray. He ponders the crown: what it will mean for him to wear it, and what it will not mean, until he is dizzy with dread. Then his mind wanders untethered through the wide, joyless span of months since he had sent Merlin away, and dug his ghost a grave. Merlin's absence should not be what taints them; it should be Morgause’s endless schemes, or his father slowly fading from festering supernatural wounds. </p><p>Still, it is Merlin he repents, and Merlin he thinks of. Merlin saving his life, again and again, unseen and unthanked. Merlin’s hands, warm against his ribs. Merlin’s body, false and yet too heavy against his ankle, sprawling in the wet earth. </p><p>His father had forgiven him easily for the last, had called it a young man’s temper. It had even bonded them, evidence of a shared pleasure in vengeance. He had traded Merlin’s love for his father’s, he found. It was a bad trade. It had been near-impossible to listen to his father’s delirious tendernesses in the last days, knowing that they were balanced on his deceit.</p><p>Perhaps it was what he deserved. Just as he had not forgiven Merlin for his secrets, Uther would never have forgiven Arthur for his. </p><p>The morning blooms slowly behind the stained glass. When the first splinter of sunlight inches above the altar Arthur’s pale garments are overlaid with shifting shards of red and green and gold. He watches the colors slide over pooled fabric and thinks of blood and grass and molten-metal eyes. </p><p>His squire comes up the aisle, footsteps echoing slow and reverent on stone.</p><p>“My Lord?”</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>He lifts his sword from the tiles and sheathes it at his side, follows the boy back down the aisle to the steps. Outside, the dawn is crisp--not sunny, exactly, but with few enough clouds that the part of Arthur that holds faith in omens is satisfied. There is a crowd of people spreading from the base of the steps to the horizon; in feast day cloaks and gowns they are a mosaic of vivid color like the lighted window in the church. They are near silent as the bishop anoints him; then his squire drapes a long red cloak over his shoulders and a clamor swells as the people turn toward the hall, where he will be crowned. </p><p>It is right to do it there. His father, too, was crowned by Geoffrey--back when it had mattered to seem impartial, to any one religion. His father might have been anointed by a druid as well as a bishop, Arthur realizes, as he watches the crowd swarm away before him. Then his eyes catch on a single face at the base of the steps and it feels as if his heart falls out of him, down the stairs and onto the flagstones.</p><p>The wicked blue eyes are the same, over the same sharp cheekbones, and there is the same fringe of raven hair across the brow, except that it is longer. Merlin grins, and raises a hand at him in casual greeting. His sleeves are rolled above his forearms, and Arthur can make out the design of a dragon curling around the arm in blue ink, it’s jaws open over the wrist. Arthur watches him turn and follow at the back edge of the crowd, his heart beating heavy blows against his ribcage.</p><p>When the trumpets finally sound, they sound reedy and distant in comparison. He walks toward them like he is supposed to, mind still ringing.</p><p>Merlin is standing in an alcove in the last corridor he passes through, only feet away from the great hall. Arthur glances sharply over his shoulder, but he is alone, except for his squire--the crowds, the knights, and the servants are all waiting ahead of him.</p><p>“Christ, Merlin! What are you doing?”</p><p>“Good to see you too.” Merlin says, leaning back against the column with his arms crossed. “Am I making you late?”</p><p>“Only for the trifling event of my coronation.” </p><p>“I <em>know</em>, you said you didn’t want to see me ever again. But I thought someone ought to come and bless your reign on behalf of the Old Religion, and none of the druids wanted to do it.” </p><p>“Bless my reign.” Arthur echoes stiffly, and then looks over at his squire, who is gawping at the dragon on Merlin’s wrist. “Tell Leon I’m going to be late.”</p><p>The squire starts and trots off down the hall. </p><p>“Think he’ll also tell Leon you’re consorting with a sorcerer in the hallway?”</p><p>“I’m not <em>consorting</em> with you.” Arthur snaps. “How do you propose you will bless my reign, exactly?”</p><p>“You’re really going to let me do it! I thought it might be such short notice--I came as fast as I could, you know, but there was--”</p><p>“Enough, Merlin. How does it work?”</p><p>“I dunno, I was thinking I could use this very advanced spell to tattoo a large triskelion over your--Gods above, the look on your face!"</p><p>"Merlin!"</p><p>"Truth is, I have absolutely no idea how it works, and I didn’t have time to find Gaius and ask. I’ll do whatever you want.”</p><p>“Something simple,” Arthur says. “<em>Not</em> a tattoo. And go in subtly, if you can manage it.” </p><p>Merlin grins, and then drops into a flourishing bow. “My entrance will be the picture of elegance, my Lord.”</p><p>He jogs away down the corridor with his cloak swirling behind him. Arthur takes a long breath in, and follows. </p><p>The doors of the hall are open when he reaches them, and Merlin is standing to the left of the throne, opposite Geoffrey. He does not meet Merlin’s eyes until he has reached the end of the aisle, since that has proved perilous before for his ability to keep a solemn expression. Then he does meet them, violently, hoping against all prior experience that Merlin will be capable of taking a hint.</p><p>Merlin breaks precedent by obliging him, and steps in front of the throne to set his hands on Arthur’s bowed head, like the bishop had done. He whispers a string of words that is jagged with unfamiliar consonants, and Arthur feels something warm and heavy settle over him like a velvet cloak.</p><p>“Protection charm,” Merlin whispers, just for him. And then says loudly, “May the Old One give you strength, and the Great Mother give you wisdom, and may your reign be blessed with all the glory of the Serpents of Fire.” Arthur has closed his eyes, but hears the crowd erupt in soft, shocked noises behind him. Then Merlin’s hands are gone, and he remembers that he must kneel for the crown.</p><p>Geoffrey has to raise his voice, at first, to be heard above the susurrus that still echoes in the hall. It fades slowly as he speaks, and when Arthur responds the first time--<em>I solemnly swear so to do</em>--it is silent again, a stillness that is heavy with the weight of the vows. </p><p>When he turns again to face them, the people roar his name.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>It is a long while before the knights have pledged their swords, the nobles have bestowed their flatteries, and the emissaries brought forward their expensive gifts. It is still longer before every person who can fit into the great hall has been given more meat and honeyed wine than they can hold, and Arthur can go up to his rooms.</p><p>Merlin is in them, reading in a chair by the fire. </p><p>“I let myself in,” he replies to Arthur’s eyebrow, rattling the lock with a gesture by way of demonstration. “But I’ll go if you want.”</p><p>Arthur sits down heavily on the side of the bed and sets the crown beside him, stretching a hand across his brow to rub at the line it has pressed into his skin. “No.” </p><p>“Did I cause a lot of trouble?” </p><p>“Not yet.” The words come out roughly, his voice hoarse with overuse. He clears his throat. “Later, yes, when they all give up on currying favor.”</p><p>“Ah. Perhaps I should leave, then.”</p><p>“Don’t be so thickheaded, Merlin. I never wanted you to leave.” Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and rubs again at his brow.  “I was only angry. Angry and--”</p><p>“It doesn’t matter, Arthur. It just doesn’t matter. Things will be different now.”</p><p>“Apparently not, since you’re still interrupting your superiors,” Arthur says dryly, looking at Merlin from between his fingers. Then he sighs, his spine curving over in exhaustion, and covers his face with his palm.</p><p>“Go to sleep, your Highness,” Merlin says, and comes to unfasten the heavy red cloak. He takes off the white one underneath it, after, and Arthur watches through half-lidded eyes, suddenly dazed with the nearness of sleep. He is easily coaxed into bed, and drifts off quickly, with Merlin beside him.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>“Your writing is abominable, for a King,” Merlin says to Arthur when he wakes up. His feet are on the desk, and in his lap are several pieces of parchment he is not authorized to read.</p><p>“God preserve me,” Arthur mumbles, and puts his head back down among the pillows.</p><p>“I quite like waking you up when I have no other responsibilities afterward,” Merlin says primly, rifling through the parchment. “Ah. I had no idea the situation with Mercia was quite so delicate. A Pendragon’s exceptional diplomacy at work, no doubt.”</p><p>“Stop reading those.”</p><p>“Why? I’m learning plenty. By the way, I got us breakfast.”</p><p>This is enough for Arthur to lift his head slightly, and look over his shoulder.</p><p>“It’s only porridge. I told the kitchens we wanted something simple and solid.”</p><p>“I hate porridge, Merlin.” Arthur does not look, and still knows that Merlin is grinning.</p><p>“By the way, I bumped into Agravaine on my way here. I think you should sack him.”</p><p>Arthur sits up. “He saw you come here?”</p><p>“No, he saw me pilfering porridge. Anyhow. He's awful. He has a liar’s air.”</p><p>“You’d know.”</p><p>“I would.”</p><p>“While you’re telling me how to run my kingdom, what am I supposed to do about all the sorcerers?”</p><p>“Tell them Uther was a right bastard and that you’re sorry he murdered so many of them, I guess.” </p><p>“Merlin. I can’t go about insulting my father when he’s just died. He’s the only reason I’ve got a crown at all. It isn’t done. Did you let me sleep in my <em>clothes?</em>”</p><p>“Speaking of things that aren’t done. A druid did not, in fact, bless Uther at his coronation. It was done in the forest the next week, very privately, to appease specific sectors of the population. Gaius told me yesterday, while the rest of you were feasting.”</p><p>Arthur covers his face with his hand. “My <em>God.</em>”</p><p>“Actually, mine,” Merlin says smugly, and sets down the parchment. “Anyway, I think it will actually make things easier. You hardly need complicated pronouncements when there’s been magic plainly done on the king’s own head.”</p><p>“It was hardly plain. A pagan prayer is not an edict, Merlin.”</p><p>“No, but the glowing was plain.”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“I thought you noticed. You said something simple, I thought it would be nice if maybe you glowed. You were quite resplendent, I daresay. Lots of ladies gasped.”</p><p>Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m putting you in the stocks.”</p><p>“You should see what something elaborate looks like.” </p><p>“You will be resplendent with rotten fruit.”</p><p>“Try, if you want,” Merlin says lightly, wiggling his fingers. White light flickers between them.</p><p>Arthur swings his legs over the edge of the bed just as Merlin takes his feet off the desk, the light now hovering ominously in his palm. </p><p>“Are you threatening me?”</p><p>“Come here and find out,” Merlin says, and then throws it before he’s taken the first step.</p><p>A sheet of stinging cold water collides with Arthur’s chest, and he splutters into it indignantly, his hair plastered down over his eyes. “I am the <em>King</em>!”</p><p>“The most prattish one yet, I daresay. I made you shine like the sun itself and you can’t even thank me.”</p><p>“You tried to bloody drown me!” Arthur says, and lunges at him.</p><p>Merlin leaps out of his chair, and then there is a tap at the door, and Leon’s voice. “My Lord? There’s meant to be a hunt, at high noon.”</p><p>“Damn high noon,” Arthur mutters, and then calls, “Yes, right, send my servant.”</p><p>“He’s here, my Lord. He said the key didn’t work in the door.”</p><p>Arthur pushes the wet hair back off his forehead to glare at Merlin.</p><p>“What,” Merlin whispers, “I thought maybe we would want privacy. It’s you who started the fighting.”</p><p>“Privacy?”</p><p>“I didn’t mean--”</p><p>“You’re a degenerate,” Arthur hisses. “unlock that door.”</p><p>Leon nearly falls into the room when the door opens under his hand. He looks between Merlin, smirking like a cat, and Arthur, soaked to the skin, blinks deliberately, and says, “My Lords,” in a perfectly even tone.</p><p>“Hi,” Merlin says. “Arthur was just washing up.” He glances at his replacement, standing at Leon's heel with a tray of fruits and pastries balanced in his arms. “And I’ve already brought him breakfast, so no need for that.”</p><p>He takes the tray, nods cheerily at Leon, and sidles through the open door.</p><p>“The stocks!” Arthur shouts after him, to no effect.</p><p> </p><p><br/>+</p><p> </p><p><br/>Merlin does not go on the hunt. He visits with Gwen over lunch, and with Gaius in the afternoon. They talk about healing-herbs and schools for sorcery and Arthur’s new Camelot until it is dark outside, and then he winds his way up the corner staircase to the council chamber.</p><p>“I know you came here to pick a fight with Agravaine,” Arthur says, looking up sharply from the table.</p><p>“I wasn’t,” Merlin lies.</p><p>“I’ve already given him a nice estate on the northwest border. He’s leaving tomorrow.”</p><p>Merlin grins. “Generous gift.” </p><p>“It is. And you had nothing to do with it, by the way.”</p><p>“Right.” Merlin taps the rustling layers of maps with his fingertips. “Thanks, Arthur.”</p><p>“I said, you had nothing to do with it.”</p><p>“Of course, My King.” </p><p>“Shut up.” </p><p>Merlin crosses his arms over his chest, and Arthur follows the movement with his eyes. Merlin's shirt is unfamiliar, a dark shade of green, and the deep indigo of the tattoo is visible on the few exposed inches between his sleeve and his palm.</p><p>“Like it?” Merlin rolls his sleeve up deliberately, revealing the dragon's wing that wraps around his elbow.</p><p>Arthur gives him a look of blank disinterest. “Like what?”</p><p>“Oh, I see,” Merlin says. “That’s fine then, I’ll just be off.”</p><p>“You aren’t dismissed.”</p><p>Merlin raises his eyebrows, hand braced on the doorframe. “I’m not your servant anymore.”</p><p>“No, you’re a subject of Camelot.” Arthur rounds the table as he says it, pacing slowly to where Merlin is standing, balanced on the threshold.</p><p>“Ah. And you’re the king.”</p><p>“Exactly.” Arthur is within inches of him now, is breathing the air he exhales.</p><p>“Hm.” Merlin looks at him from under his eyelashes and takes a single step back. </p><p>Arthur knows bait when he sees it, and resists. “You still answer to me, Merlin.”</p><p>Merlin nods. “We can discuss it. In your room.”</p><p>They do not jog, but it is a near thing, and Arthur takes the steps two at a time.</p><p>“Can I lock the door, or would you prefer your servant is able walk in at any time?” Merlin says, as they cross the threshold. Arthur is already helping him out of his shirt, mouth pressed to the corner of his jaw.</p><p>“Every time I imagine it--” Arthur says into his neck, and then pulls back to writhe out of his own shirt, “I forget that you're like this.” </p><p>“What, fun?” Merlin asks, taking one of his hands off Arthur’s laces to gesture in the direction of the door behind him, which flashes briefly green at the edges. The tattoo, Arthur realizes, with a flash of lustful shock, stretches all the way up his arm, and twines into a second dragon that curls over most of his pectoral. </p><p>“Intolerable,” Arthur says, and then kisses him sweetly, which takes the edge off the insult.</p><p>Merlin looks at him seriously, hands skimming his hipbones.</p><p>“Do you trust me, Arthur?” His hands drift to the small of Arthur’s back, and then lower, pushing his breeches down ahead of them.</p><p>Arthur processes the implication slowly, and then breathes through it.</p><p>“Or, we can--”</p><p>“No,” Arthur says, “I do. With limited things,” he clarifies, as Merlin walks him backward into the bed. “Never with laundry. Or fast horses, or sharp objects.” </p><p>“Wait here,” Merlin says, and then goes to get the pouch on his belt, discarded several paces away. Arthur appreciates the view of his naked body in the dark, long and pale and tattooed, he realizes, across half of his back, as well as the chest and arm. Three dragons.</p><p>Merlin hands him a little vial, and keeps another one for himself. </p><p>“Inhale it.”</p><p>“You have,” Arthur sniffs at the mouth of the bottle tentatively, and then again, harder, “sex vials, wherever you go.” </p><p>Merlin takes it from his hand and stoppers it again, businesslike. “Yeah. Turn around.”</p><p>Arthur takes a shaky breath and complies, kneeling down in the center of the bed. Merlin follows behind him, teeth skimming over the nape of his neck. “Okay?”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Merlin’s palm skids up the knobs of his spine and presses between his shoulder blades, and Arthur goes down on his elbows.</p><p>“Still okay?” </p><p>“Yes. Now get on with it.”</p><p>“Terrible attitude,” Merlin says fondly, and bends over him to kiss his ribs.</p><p>It is not like Arthur thinks it will be--it is slightly worse, and then abruptly much better, and there is a blinding, desperate moment when he says something like, “God, Merlin, just fuck me,” and cannot even regret that it is unconscionably good for Merlin’s ego.</p><p>When he is firmly in his right mind again, what he says is, “Why three dragons?” Merlin is lying half on top of him, and Arthur can trace the pattern around his tricep and onto his shoulder, where the serpents’ tails knot together.</p><p>“For the Triple Goddess, for one,” Merlin says, setting his chin on Arthur’s sternum to look at him.</p><p>“You weren’t joking about the giant triskelion.”</p><p>Merlin’s mouth curves up at one corner. “I did practice it on myself.” </p><p>Arthur loses his place in the knot and tries to trace it again, this time approaching from Merlin's shoulder blade. “You said for one. What’s the other thing?”</p><p>“Well… I’m sort of. Erm.” Merlin draws a line along Arthur’s chest with a fingertip, avoiding his eyes. “As it turns out. A dragonlord.”</p><p>“A dragonlord.” Arthur says the word again, trying not to choke on it. “A <em>dragonlord</em>.”</p><p>“Yes.” Merlin nods, his chin digging into Arthur’s chest. “And there’s a ritual I did, with the tattoos.”</p><p>Arthur looks at him seriously, but does not frown. “I see.”</p><p>“It's not such a complicated thing, actually. I speak to dragons, and they have to listen. That’s all.”</p><p>“That’s all, is it?”</p><p>“Well, certain <em>Pen</em>dragons are quite fond of me also.” Merlin says, and looks at him with mischief glittering in his blue eyes. “As you have made very clear.” </p><p>Arthur groans, and covers his face with his hands.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Behold :') art. Find the artist on tumblr @ <a href="https://kritastrophe.tumblr.com/">kritastrophe</a><br/><br/><br/>Everyone who thought the pacing was nice can take it back now. I will sacrifice all coherency and throw a 1-year time skip Just Wherever because I love a thriving pagan Merlin returning in style. </p><p>I have appreciated every one of your comments so so much, &amp; I hope you enjoyed this strange little adventure. Also, my heart is warmed by our collective commitment to this pairing, like, a decade after it was first relevant... such is the power of an ending that breaks you inside. It is improbable, statistically, that this contains even a shred of original thought--and yet here you all are anyway. Incredible &lt;3&lt;3</p>
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